• The cold stone stung my bare feet, raw and bloodied. Stray tendrils of golden-brown hair swung slightly as I walked. The cool breeze did not hit me hard, but rather i absorbed it, penetrating my skin and setting a chill deep into my bones. My clothes hung loosely around my scrawny body. My once-blue eyes had long faded to gray and my cheeks had lost their rosy tint, whereas my lips were as a warm red as ever. My head swirled with thoughts of despair with clouds of grief. But I was on a mission and refused to let these thoughts get in my way.

    So I continued on, frozen feet pounding a monotonous tone on the lifeless stone. This was the only sound accompanying my shallow breathing. But I knew the peace would not last. It could not last. There was a strong tension, uncomfortably present, unignorable, and I knew that peace did not last in times of war. But it was not a open war, a war of world wide recognition. No, not many knew of it, or rather, refused to think about it. People nowadays were living in complacency, not caring how many died while they hid in their shell, snug in their beds, warm and cozy. I was one of the dying. I knew i did not have much time, but I carried on anyway.

    These thoughts were lost as a cacophony of bangs rattled the solid stone walls. not yet! Fear struck my heart like a dagger, furtiveness leaking out as would blood. This was no time for carefulness. I was not in position, and the first shots had been fired. I did not care about about the pain shooting up my sore legs. What was a little pain in a matter of life or death?

    There was then a silence, the silence I knew well: it was the false sense of peace in the middle of war. A knell sounded in the distance. Instead of relieving me, this sound sent me into a wild frenzy, running faster than I ever had before. I was the most important part in this arcane operation, and if I could not make it, all hope would be forever lost.

    Not much farther now, but neither was there much time. I was not usually intrepid, but with the next bang, my emotions ran dry and I no longer felt anything. And I mean nothing. Not the pain, not the fear, not the despair. I did not think. I was a robot on a mission, and had only one thought: complete it.

    I needed serendipity, but no luck would come to me that night.

    I turned the final corner, and stopped abruptly. I wanted to curl into a ball, to break down, to let go to my fear, to be relieved of the responsibility I now had. I wanted to cry.

    There were many things wrong with the scene that greeted my terrified eyes. For one, I knew that there should not have been a man, bloodied and broken, lying in the middle of the chamber floor. Nor should he have been on my side. There should not have been the girl with the wild eyes, hair unruly and wild, slender body covered in cuts and bruises, holding the dagger with white knuckles, cradling a crooked arm, lips pursed in a snarl, and dried tears streaking her cheeks. She too was a fellow fighter. She should not have have been staring at a man who should not have been there either, wearing a blue shirt, loose pants, with slightly ruffled hair and modicum cuts seemingly small in depth, holding another dagger with a sapphire embedded in the hilt. He was not a friend, and enmity was strong in the stuffy, cold air. This should not have been happening.

    But they were there, and this was happening. There were many things that I could have gathered from this eyeful, but there were only two processed: they were winning, and I was too late.